


Carrying On.

by flowersinhereyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Friends, Dubious Morality, Existential Angst, Existentialism, Gen, Moral Dilemmas, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersinhereyes/pseuds/flowersinhereyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the morning of September 1st, 1939, the world James Potter knows is turned upside down. As England is plunged into war, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter must battle that which is so unfairly thrown in their way. War never makes sense, and time might feel like it stops, but it continues on, setting an example: the only thing anyone can ever do is carry on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

The slow tick of a watch reverberated around the dim darkness of a room. Leather-strap battered and soft, it lay on the floor next to a bed like some kind of protector; a silent tracker of something invisible. There were a lot of fears that came with the night-time, and they did not always keep away in the day. Now, within those blue-tinted hours of the early morning, that watch tracked the movement of nightmares it could not understand. Neither could the one experiencing them.  
  
James Potter did not wake with a start. He woke as though it was the thing to do, a regimental obedience teasing his head away from a pillow. Standing, eyes adjusting to the half-light, he grabbed his glasses from the floor, tied his watch around his wrist, and went to open the curtains. The infernal tick so close to the pulse in his wrist was a conversation he couldn't hear. The room stayed in dull light, the first rays of the sun hidden by clouds that betrayed nothing. Staring at the imprint of his own sleeping self, he remembered his dreams. Bare foot and yawning, he pulled the duvet straight with a slight shake of his head. They were already fading, the reality that triggered them oncoming but not realised yet.

He would never understand them. They would be played off as strangely prophetic, unexplainable, but consistent in producing a sinking feeling in the stomach. But that was the way some things were: incidental. They didn't have to _mean_ anything.

Brushing his teeth, James grinned at his reflection, white foam contrasting with the tan of his skin. Lily had always noted the way he did this, piling his toothbrush high and grinning without any sincerity to reach as many of his teeth as possible. Child-like. One pant-leg would be higher than the other, one foot itching at the other leg as James balanced, tired but never falling. He would be seeing her later.

As if suddenly aware of his private silence, he switched the radio on, humming along to the final sounds of Frank Sinatra's ' _All Or Nothing At All.'_ The sun seemed to have come out, lighting the room with a handful of warmth which hadn't really spread to everywhere yet. James picked out his clothes. The day stretched out ahead of him in his mind: a Friday, breakfast with friends and Lily, a few hours at the The Daily Prophet pretending to develop any photographs he'd forgotten to take and would make up over the weekend, and then the freedom of the evening in all its glory. He tied the buttons at the top of his shirt as the news bulletin came in, dancing around his room to open a window, letting the birdsong in though it did nothing to his ears when he heard the voice on his radio:  
  
_" Ladies and gentlemen, Great Britain is officially at war with Germany. I urge you to remain calm and to remember your civil duty to this government in the face of the threat of Adolf Hitler and the uncertain future. You will understand the term 'conscription' for young men. It goes without saying that we are a proud people, and so will not remain passive to the injustice and the danger that Germany pose-”_

James stopped. He turned, staring at his radio as it stared right back at him, no longer listening to the words that came out of it but hearing them repeat in his head instead. The hands that were at his collar came down, mind registering the morning's revelations. James stood frozen. A silhouette stained the, now doused in sunlight, insides of a lived-in room. To the outsider, he was a toy who had been wound-up and was now stuck, the key that was at his back broken. Then, quick as he had stopped, he found his shoes, grabbed his keys, forgot his coat, and ran out into the street. Into a world that saw his worry, recognised his fear, and matched it ten-fold.

  
_“You will understand the term 'conscription' for young men.”_  
  
Amidst all that faux-patriotism, all the bright shiny words to make this sound decent and worthy and good, the streets were now full of bodies who would die and bodies who would kill. Bodies that would add to a count. Bodies of his friends. He had known about the pressures Germany was exerting, taking Austria, going deeper and deeper into uncharted territory. Working at a newspaper had only consolidated his curious, enquiring nature, had allowed him to pursue chasing stories, even if it was to photograph them, had let him learn naturally. But now, that knowledge seeped out of his brain and into a street already teeming with it. As busy as the streets were at 8:45am, the air teemed not simply with conversation. It was frenzied. Wild. But for the most part, and James knew he was right as soon as he thought of this, people were terrified.

  
The sun seemed an unwelcome visitor, a bringer of light into a place that would never seem light now. Crisp and autumnal, the wind sent an ache through James' bones as he waded, coat-less, through people with papers in their hands all proclaiming the same headline.

The watch tied around his wrist seemed to have known this. It had stopped ticking when James had been brushing his teeth. A few moments after, he had learned of the news.

He stopped at the cafe on the corner. Imagined his friends inside. The wind ran through his messy hair as his breath caught in his throat and he walked in. Everything was about to change.

 

 

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James joins his friends for breakfast. Talk turns toward the war and of course, no one is shy of things to say.

"I don't like it, but I don't see what we can do about it." Sirius Black's voice was one which, despite the din of a morning as busy as this, carried quite well. It reached James' ears soon after the bell above the cafe door rang, signalling his presence. His friend sat smoking a cigarette, heavy-lidded eyes staring at nothing in particular as he thought aloud.

The cafe was bright and warm, dotted with couches in earthy colours and wooden tables. James felt as though he'd walked into something so intentionally cosy that it no longer seemed comforting. The woman behind the counter had the radio loud. The mix of white-noise, a frantically loud voice repeating the same news over and over, and the smell of croissants and coffee was frustrating. What little sense a cafe could offer seemed violated. Breakfast no longer seemed a simple affair.

"It's Germany. Hitler is a bastard. I for one couldn't care less about 'the promise of clean air with conscription' they're talking about. I'll join that army to reduce any threat-"  
"At being like your family?" A voice interjected. Her face was already in his mind as he made his way to their table. "Really Sirius, we know you well enough to know that Germany isn't your true enemy. Don't confuse your loyalty to defiance to be honourable. It isn't."

Lily frowned, the crease between her eyes one James knew well. He'd been victim to her looks of disdain, her looks of bemusement, her looks of worry for a longtime. Now, she turned, brown eyes warm against the lightest of freckles on her skin, only barely showing in the cosy light to look at him. She stated his name, walked around the small table, hugged him hello.

"Where's your coat?! You're going to catch your death!"  
"We all are." Peter snorted, throwing back his coffee. Remus, sat next to him, barely even registered this comment, face downcast as he scanned the newspaper on his lap, the scone on the plate in front of him forgotten.  
"I forgot it," James took the seat Sirius offered after he'd stated his order to an enquiring passing waitress. "And I take it you've all heard the news by now."  
"Who hasn't?" Lily sighed, "But that's never the worst part."  
"Enlighten us, Evans." Sirius rolled his eyes,reaching to over-sugar his tea as he always did. "God knows you'll just shit all over my prospects of being a good little Brit and killing some Jerries."  
"Can we just not," Remus folded the paper into a neat quarter and placed it on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "use the exact same dehumanising tactics through rhetoric the government is using. Tell me it isn't catching on already. You're smarter than that."  
Sirius smiled, patting his arm twice. "Partly joking, Lupin. Partly joking."

"You did just completely illustrate 'the worst part' that I was talking about though," Lily spoke between sips of her tea, gesturing to James as the waitress came around with his croissant and tea,"Ignorant people saying ignorant things and reducing the value of any life to ideology because hey, it's war! There's gotta be a bad side and a good side."

"And somehow," James broke off a part of his croissant and dipped it into his tea, "we're the 'good guys.' I mean, I know Hitler's ideas of eugenics are despicable and it doesn't get better with his ideas on Jews or anything else I've heard rumours about, but this is going to be a bloodbath. One that'll be justified in the future maybe, but a bloodbath regardless."  
"Bombs, guns, machetes," Peter muttered grimly,"We know of them. War means using them."  
"Shit." Sirius lit another cigarette. The smoke curled around the five, staining their clothes, contrasting with the strong coffee smell of the cafe. "I've never had a cheerier breakfast than this."

  
It was true. James took a look around the table, noted the pensive looks on his friends' faces. They'd been together since their school days and yet, in these moments, he was suddenly struck by exactly just how much they'd grown since then. Same faces, same mannerisms, but now, Sirius's swaggering arrogance seemed contrived, a mask to hide the vulnerability family allowed,especially in his case. Trapped in a heritage he hated, employed by his family, James knew the resentment with which Sirius worked at people. His charm, conditioned by his good looks, was always endearing. But sometimes, it seemed so habitual that it grew cold. His grey eyes, usually opaque and smiling, would seem misty, impenetrable. Whether it was a client he was offering his skills to as a bank clerk, or a pretty person at the bar, they stared at people as thought they could look right through them. But they'd always warm, take sweeping glances, and then return to the safety of a familiar face: despite what those who called him 'friend' would think, his small circle remained this way.

Peter, always the smallest, seemed less self-conscious, but this didn't seem to be a cause for celebration. James remembered the way he and his friends would have stayed awake with the boy, answering the fears and worries his anxiety disorder gave him. Peter was someone who gave his loyalty quickly, who trusted too easily, and thus who required a level of protection. Working in a record-store had helped Peter's confidence. It was easy to see the excitement in his eyes when they talked about music, the way his hands would come into play, the sheer breadth of knowledge he could rattle off if anyone gave him the chance. But now, he seemed tired. Pale hands lying immobile in his lap as Lily and Remus spoke of conscientious objectors, he spoke with the enthusiasm of someone who had stopped fighting a long time ago. There was a light inside him that hung by a fraying string.

Remus, on the other hand, fought with a quiet confidence. Sirius once joked that Remus would've been the best murderer after a late-night Cluedo game. The game had lay discarded, fully operational, in the centre of the floor in Peter's old university apartment and Sirius had been laying on the bed, smiling, pointing lazily as he spoke.

"He's deadly. Quiet, so you wouldn't expect it, but Remus, you could kill me and I'd lie in my coffin thinking of you coming to my funeral, laying flowers, crying for me. And I'd be grateful. I'd know I probably deserved it."

Remus had shrugged this off, a pink rising to his cheek, annoyed at this imagining. But it was true: kind and conscientious, he spoke with an authority that came from deep within, from years of being home-schooled before university, from loneliness, from a genuine desire for goodness. It was unsurprising when he had started his teacher training, shadowing at schools, reading voraciously, though the latter was nothing new. He functioned at a level that almost shamed his company, an unintentional flaw of idealism he did not realise he retained. But this idealism was one which always featured a darkness, a depression manifesting itself in cynicism, and occasional disregard for his own health. Now, he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in a fit of agitation.

"I just know that no matter what I do, whether I choose to object, whether I choose to go out there, is it really ever going to be my choice?"  
"And if you do choose to object,"Peter noted, "it's not going to be an easy ride. Conscientious objectors aren't really prized as anything wonderful."  
"So why are soldiers?!" Remus groaned, any idea of grammar out of his head as he fought the moral battle from the inside. "If you choose to abstain, you're a coward. If you choose to go fight, you're brave. And hurting people. On purpose."  
"For a country, for ideology,yes we get it," Sirius interrupted, tossing his dark hair to the side as he spoke, "But the fact of the matter is, no one's going to listen to your John Lennon sentiments if you're just a teacher in training. They don't care about us. What they care about is making sure we're doing our civic duty. Being a soldier doesn't mean you're a bad person... Unless it's for the enemy."

He stubbed a burning cigarette out on the table as Lily glared at him.  
"I know,"James started slowly, "it doesn't help that your brother is fighting for Germany and your parents support him. But what about the civilians? People in between? The innocents?"  
"We all start out innocent," Peter said, "but right now, it just seems like no one cares about preserving that. It doesn't really matter what any of us 'choose' to do. It's an illusion. We're young men. We have to fight."

Lily shuddered, James watching the red of her hair being tucked behind an ear before placing a hand on hers. She leaned into him, grateful for the warmth of a body that, though just as worried as hers, felt like home. Her hands fiddled with the strap of his watch as the conversation continued.

"Probably."

Remus' voice was hoarse. Sirius watched the brown of his eyes, noting the frenzy behind them, thick eyebrows pulled tight, the youthful goodness of his face lost within all his thought.  
"I'm just not going to be the soldier they want me to be. The one they want all of us to be."

"I'll accept that that isn't any of your styles." Lily sighed. "I'm so sorry that this is happening."

  
The breakfast, half-consumed, was cleared from the table as the group sat together. James watched the scene as though he were taking a picture, focusing at the centre, taking into account the aesthetics of what constituted the edges, pressing the shutter multiple times. Sirius and Peter sat listening to Remus, talking with his hands, the cream of his jumper pulled up to his skinny wrists, expressing his fears. Peter would occasionally nod, the line of his mouth hard, eyes a transparent blue, containing Remus in a glance. Sirius, though slumped in his chair, staring at the burn in the table, was listening. James knew from the way his head lolled to the right, ear exposed in his direction. His red scarf peeked out from under him. James remembered it being a staple of his wardrobe ever since he had given it to him for Christmas when they were 16.

Lily smelled like soap and flowers. Between hushed conversations about his safety and glances up at him, he knew she was the one he could never forget the details about. The dark of her jeans, the fraying edges of the laces of her boots, the dimple that creased the corner of her mouth when she laughed. Not that she'd been laughing much this morning.

James imagined his soul standing up, leaving his place so close to her, standing next to where that waitress was standing, the one with the pen behind her ear at the counter, and taking a picture of them all. He knew that moments like this, knew that togetherness, was now a numbered phenomenon for this company.


End file.
